Only a Memory
by Lacey G. Bliss
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione have sent their souls back to their younger selves. The question remains: what will they do now?


Only a Memory

Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione have sent their souls back to their younger selves. The question remains: what will they do now?

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On August 31st, 1991, nothing noteworthy happened in the news. No bombings were reported, no mass outbreaks of anything… It was a slow news day all across England—nothing of note happened at all.

Or so it seemed. For on August 31st, 1991, a sudden, unnatural wind circulated around three eleven-year-olds, who, at the time, were nowhere near each other.

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The first to experience the strange phenomenon was a gangly, ginger haired boy with a face full of freckles and a long nose, named Ronald Weasley, oftentimes called Ron. He was sitting on his bed, thinking of the excitement to come the next day, when his Quidditch Quarterly magazine was blown clear out of his hand.

Ron turned to look at the window, but it was still shut tight—the unbearable heat would get in, otherwise. Suddenly, he felt it again, all around him. Confused, he braced himself for _something_. He didn't quite know what, but… WHAM! Ron collapsed into a heap on the floor, as though a ton of bricks had fallen atop him, even though no such thing had happened. In fact, nothing had touched him at all, except for the wind.

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Several hours South-East of Ron's location, as he lay on the floor, a young girl with bushy brown hair and a prominent overbite was reading a rather large book with a look of utmost concentration plastered to her face. It was _Hogwarts, A History_, and she was Hermione Granger.

One might wonder why, had they not been privy to the nearly identical scene with Ron Weasley, why a book that weighed nearly a quarter the weight of its reader suddenly flew across the room. Hermione could be counted into that group of wonderers. Staring at her book, pages disheveled, spine obviously damaged, she felt the oddest urge to brace herself for _something_. It was with a great gust of wind swirling around her tense form that she was struck, as Ron had been, with some invisible force. The only signs anything had happened were the echoing sound of impact and the crumpled body of an eleven-year-old girl.

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The third child was a skinny thing, with black hair and startlingly green eyes. He sat in a small, sparse room (in an immaculately clean house) in suburban Surrey, reading, just as the other two had been. His name was Harry Potter, known to a third of the world's population as The Boy-Who-Lived.

One would not have noticed at first, but he had company.

"Gaetana?"

A snowy owl shook her head in a negative.

"Walburga?"

Not only did the owl shake her head, she shot him a clear _'Are you out of your mind?'_ look.

"Um… How about… Hedwig?"

The unnatural wind blew the book out of his hands at the precise moment the newly christened Hedwig nodded an affirmative.

He looked at her, silently hoping that it had been her that did that, and not his imagination. She looked back at him, squarely placing all blame possible onto his shoulders.

Just then, the wind picked up. Harry tensed, and Hedwig struggled to keep her footing on her perch. The wind concentrated upon his person, and with a deep _WHUMP_ sound, Harry was unconscious, just as the other two were.

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The three woke up not five minutes later, or at least their bodies did. It was arguable whether or not the same children really woke up.

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Ron groaned, trying to figure out how he had been knocked out this time. It was sort of a game he played. If he could remember the place and circumstances, it wasn't an _Obliviate_ spell. If he didn't have a cottony taste in the roof of his mouth, he hadn't been drugged. Hermione had once told him that it was the most depressing game she had ever heard of, in a way that made him think she enjoyed the idea. Harry had just laughed understandingly. They needed their little things, bits of life to enjoy, otherwise they'd go mad.

He mentally ran through the checklist, but couldn't for the life of him remember what he had been hit with. It finally came to him: he hadn't been hit with anything. If he was right (and he thought he was, as it didn't currently smell like dank lake water and old snake droppings), then he, Harry, and Hermione had succeeded. He was in the past.

_When I open my eyes, I'll be at home,_ the thought came. It made him happy to think that in this time, the Burrow was still standing, his family still together, alive, inside. The suspense was building. Then, as if hearing a silent cue from somewhere, Ron opened his eyes.

He was home.

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Hermione panicked for a minute or two. It looked like she was in her old room, but that couldn't be possible. Her old room was gone, burnt to the ground, just like her neighborhood, just like all of muggle London. She could hear the sounds of _someone_ downstairs, but it couldn't be her parents. They were dead. All she had was Harry and Ron.

Harry and Ron! Her panic escalated—where were they? How did she get here, and why weren't they here with her?

Then it all came flooding back. The ritual, the Chamber, the decision made…

It hit her. It had worked—her room was standing, her parents were alive… She was home.

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Harry stiffened, mildly offended that he was knocked out and couldn't quite remember why. He thought about playing the game Ron had invented, but thought better of it.

_Now, any people?_ He decided to take tally of what surrounded him before alerting whoever had him to his consciousness.

There was someone… No. Some_thing_ nearby. He could hear the faintest breathing, and he silently prayed it wasn't vicious, poisonous, or would otherwise harm his person. Creature attacks were never fun. As that thought ran through his head, the creature made a noise.

"Hoot?" That sounded familiar. He opened his eyes to see…

Hedwig.

His beloved friend, somehow back from beyond the grave. Then he looked around. With a jolt of recognition, he _remembered_.

With a mix of happiness and wary tredipation, he thought, _I'm home._

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**AN: Mm... Another start to another story... Let's see if I can keep up with them. So sorry if this isn't as long as you would like it to be, but I figured this was as good a place as any to end the first chapter. I am considering making the whole of first year into a single chapter... It would most definitely be longer than this. Can I get your opinions on that? Please, leave a review, as fellow authors you _must_ know how much they lift the spirits and encourage new ideas! Oh, and with your review, could you leave your opinion on what house they should all try to be Sorted into? I'm leaning away from Gryffindor, and towards Ravenclaw, but as a Ravenclaw, I'm a bit biased. Thanks, and happy readings! _~Lacey_**


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